


Ticket Stubs to Inspiration

by bluebottle762 (orphan_account)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Canon Compliant, Eye Trauma, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3579303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bluebottle762
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ever growing set of words that happen when I should be writing other words for other things. All of the following have been requests that were originally taken and posted elsewhere. </p><p>Some things link to other things, some things may kickstart more things. We shall see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood Magic and Crystal Blades

**Author's Note:**

> Requested fantasy au with the Titan Trio battling a dragon with, and I quote "Nary a chance of survival." 
> 
> Don't think they expected this level of seriousness.

They had underestimated. This was something he was only now being forced to accept as he struggled to lose the damaged plate of his right pauldron. The thing was useless, having been rent almost in two by one black claw, already slick with the blood of his fellows. 

Frustrated, he drew the short knife from his belt, making short work of the straps that held the now dead weight in place. He pushed it off with some relief, feeling Berthold shift behind him to accommodate the movement. It hadn’t just been the pauldron the claw had caught in it’s path. Murmuring fast and low, Berthold ran his hands over his back, using his life blood to draw the necessary runes and staves to try and knit the flesh. In a way, the seriousness of the wound was it’s own good fortune. The clan Berthold hailed from was one of the older variety, their magic darker, closer to the source than the kind they practiced in the shinning cities. It required a dark and a living element to be at it’s strongest, and blood drawn of force was perhaps the most poignant combination of the two there was. They did not have long however. 

Their brief reprieve had come at a high cost. Annie, possibly the last Walker south of the crystal mountains, lay not twenty feet from their current location, her prolonged death rattle becoming fainter and harder won with every draw. Her own twin blades, who’s names she had refused to give to any that did not speak her native tongue, pierced her chest, one through each lung, marking the air above her with their crossed hilts. With what had ultimately become her final act of violence, she had blinded the beast, slicing cleanly through both pitch orbs in a graceful arch and shattering the left orbit. But it had caught her in one of those eerily human hands and cast her aside where she had tumbled towards the earth, without word or scream, and her twin blades, loosed from her grasp, had followed her. 

Taking a fist full of the blood soaked ash beneath them, Berthold finished his work, smearing the black paste over the raw flesh. Reiner tried not to cry out at the course grit being pushed into what still felt like an open wound, clenching his jaw and gripping the hilt of his own sword tightly. In seconds Berthold was in front of him, blocking the shuddering Annie from view. The angular scars that networked his body, already painted with wode before battle, were glowing a brilliant blue, casting odd reflections in his deep green eyes. 

"The throat, Reiner. Take the throat you take the beast." Nodding, he pulled himself to his feet, rolling his smarting shoulder, muscles protesting from over use, stress, and whatever darkness Berthold had just imbibed in him. 

She jutted from the black earth, pearly white, like a pristine bone from the flesh of a long dead corpse. One wing mangled, dragging wide curves through the black ash, the shattered remains of it’s humerus protruding sickeningly through the rented flesh; thickening black blood collecting at the wound. His work.

Scenting them, she turned, some inner fluid still draining steadily from marred sockets, mixing with that pungent blood to fall in globules to the ground. Seemingly without drawing breath, she unleashed a scream, piercing, desperate, so loud it was almost impossible to hear. The force of it caused a jellied lump of iris to flop out of her right eye socket, staining her already gore flecked scales before landing wetly between her front feet. He strode towards her, her gaping maw casting him in the stench of blood and rot, enough to make his stomach turn. 

For what it was worth, this blow would be for Annie. He only hoped it would be final, one way or the other.


	2. Pert but Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short one.
> 
> Request was: Men's barracks butt comparison contest. Need I say more.

"Yes but it has a rounder shape to it." Cupping his hands in demonstration, Reiner grinned broadly. Beside him, Marco snorted. Honestly, he was one of the ones he hadn’t expected to be involved in this, but here he was. There was more going on there than met the eye he was sure of it.

"The curve is too harsh though, pert is good, but a softer curve is.. nicer. Like Jean’s." This from Armin, another unexpected participant. The little blond met his gaze and held it, a smile playing with him somewhere in those startlingly blue eyes of his. "Not that there is anything wrong with a more… Masculine shape either." He was almost sure that had been some kind of airy flirtation. Almost. Whatever it was he already had Armin down as being solidly in both camps. 

"Jean has a feminine ass." This observation neither added nor subtracted to either side of the argument, although Eren seemed to be under the impression it was doing at least one of those things. After another moment of no one else saying anything, he uncrossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow."That should disqualify him." 

Walking past the bunk they’d taken over, Connie threw his hands up in feigned disgust.

"You know how many shades of gay that whole thing is? Fucking hell." Marco laughed softly beside him, pulling his knees up to his chest, resting his chin between them. Soft, gentle, empathetic… apparently likes cock a whole lot more than most people suspect. 

"What a shocker." Reiner smiled again, relaxing back against the wall as Connie passed. "Careful Connie or we’ll vote you in at number one."


	3. Lab Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a tie in to a bigger thing I have going on, and hope to write out in full at some point. 
> 
> Mutant au very heavily based on the X-Men. Oh so very heavily based on X-men. Essential information that may not be apparent; Levi has mimicking abilities.

"Left." Mike nodded in the direction he’d indicated before turning on his heel and passing through a section of stained concrete wall directly to their left. The phaser was a man of little words, to the point, and intelligent. Levi would have preferred to work along side him regardless, but as it was he was the only one capable of keeping up with him. It was difficult to keep close to someone who could walk through walls at their leisure. Tailing him, he felt the familiar cold sensation that accompanied passing through something solid, assessing the new room the moment his sight returned to him. 

It was dingy, bare concrete like everything else below the facility, lit with a low green light that made the entire space feel as though it were underwater. The vague damp chill in the air did nothing to alleviate the illusion. A large ‘01’ was spray painted on one wall. This was all background, however. 

Stood in the very center of the room was some kind of tank, four glass walls, topped with a mesh roof, far too high for even Mike to reach. Above this was some form of rudimentary lift, a small platform, evidently designed to be lowered into the tank remotely. Presumably to service the tank’s inhabitant.

"What the shit is that." Levi shot a look at Mike, before returning his attention to the sprawled mess of deathly pale limbs slumped on the stained floor of it’s enclosure. Mike shook his head, moving round the room to the small assembly of desks and computer set ups that crowded one side of the hanger like room. Looking for documentation, forever Erwin’s second. Moving toward the tank, Levi tried to get a better look at the thing. Emaciated, long limbed, every vertebra pushing a harsh bump up through the clammy looking skin of it’s back. Circling round, he got a look at it’s face, and very quickly wished he hadn’t. Large dark eyes stared right through him, pupil-less and without any discernible lids, set into a long, hollow face. It’s jaw, slightly open, was lined with sharp curving teeth, it’s tongue wide and flat, lolled out onto the cold grey floor.

"Dead." He didn’t need Mike to tell him that. Not taking his eyes off the thing, he took a step away from the glass. There were track marks up both it’s arms, a cannula still embedded in it’s elongated hand.

"What of." Flicking through more notes and records, Mike took another few seconds to answer. 

"Looks like it gave out. Subject 01, male, 17, name of Hoover, Marcel." Finally taking his eyes off of the sad thing crumpled on the floor, Levi fixed Mike with a look. "Nothing we can do Levi."

"Take the documents." Mike held his gaze for a moment before nodding curtly and gathering the papers he deemed as important or identifying. One lost already and they hadn’t even started. After further searching the room, they moved on, again to the left.

The next room was nearly identical to the first, damp, cold, bleak and hopeless, glass tank dominating the center of the room. A black ‘02’ was painted where the previous ‘01’ had been. Identical, except for it’s inhabitant. 

This tank was not so bare as the first, a small plastic table with a single chair stood to one side, a jug of water and a stack of disposable cups the only things placed upon it. Near this, a basin of clean water, alongside a black bucket and a few neatly stacked rolls of toilet paper. Set into the middle of the floor was a small grate. None of this was as grim as what stood in the far corner, however. A single wire bed frame, adorned with a thin, stained mattress, and a cellular blanket. And a thin, unmoving body. 

Approaching the glass, Levi kept his eyes on the seemingly sleeping form. The shallow rise and fall of their chest through the plain white hospital gown seemed to confirm they were alive. He knocked twice. No response. He knocked again.

"Hey, kid." Uncurling from their position on the bed, they twisted round to face the sound. Male by the looks of him, brown hair, so dark it was almost black, clean but unkempt, as if it had only been washed with water for a very long time. He looked like he’d been tanned at some point, large dark eyes taking a moment to focus. "Hey, what’s your name." Across the room Levi could hear Mike riffling through documents again.

"Where’s your coat?" Swinging his bare feet off the bed, he stood. He was young, a little too thin, but not malnourished as he already stood almost a foot taller than Levi. He looked like he hadn’t slept properly in years. Tentatively, he asked another question. "You’re not one of the doctors?" 

"No. My name is Levi, I’m a member of a mutant group, I’m here to help you." The boy nodded, eyes slipping away from Levi and over to the plastic table. When nothing else was forth coming, Levi looked over at Mike, wordlessly asking if he was safe to proceed. He seemed safe enough, but sometimes it was the quiet ones who were on a hair trigger for violence. "What’s your name?" At this the boy looked up again, almost fearfully. 

What was he scared of? The question or… The fact that Levi was addressing him as a human being?

"Berthold. Berthold Hoover."


	4. The Grape Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short, fluffy modern au. Request was: Happy Titan trio.

The air in the tiny kitchen was tense, all eyes on the shortest member of their household.

"Oh my god… She’s doing it."

"Reiner, shh, you’ll break her focus." 

Perfect balance, that’s all it took. Perfect balance, the right sized grape, and a nose like Annie’s. 

Flicking her head back a fraction more, she propelled the fruit into the air, moving to catch it in her mouth expertly before straightening up and smiling at her housemates smugly. Hopping back up on the counter, she took another grape out of the open bag and popped it in her mouth.

For once, all three of them had been home for the whole day. With schedules that usually conflicted, what with Reiner often working nights, Bert having a couple of full days at college twice a week as well as fairly regular hours working as a page at their local library, and Annie’s shitty Mcdonalds job she was desperate to replace, getting a whole day together was rare. And of course, the first one they got in ages, and it was raining. Hard. 

"How’re we doing for booze?" Berthold, who was nearest the fridge, cracked open the door to have a look.

"Okay I think" Reiner snorted, moving to lean next to Annie.

"Okay by my standards or by yours?" Cracking a grin as Berthold opened his mouth to respond, Annie interrupted them, not keen for another petty debate about alcohol tolerance.

"Should we order take out? Fuck cooking tonight." Glad for the topic change, Bert shot her a thankful look.

"Where did Mikasa say her brother worked again? Maybe we should order from there and scare the bejeezus out of him." Annie smiled again at Reiner’s suggestion, although this one had a hint of malice in it.

"Nova." 

"Oh, well I think that settles that. Good pizza and a chance to let you entertain your inner sadist? Match made in heaven."


	5. Ayr'Dal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more fantasy aus. This time EverQuest flavoured, although loosely. I just really, really needed half elf Levi, okay.

This was not the first time, nor did he doubt it would be the last. He already knew, but Farlan’s hand on his shoulder was the sign he’d been waiting for.

"Levi.." 

"I know." Folding the front half of his cloak back over his shoulder to free his movements, he stood from his place by their dampened fire and made his way to where he knew she would be, where she always was. 

The tall trees of the underwood, whilst distant in their spacing, afforded little light at ground level. It was where you went if you were less than welcome in the scrolling web of the city above. A different world. What light did reach them came cold and blue and sparse in it’s dispersal from the passing wisps that circled high above them, forever wandering in their fruitless journeys. No one was born to this place, it was a world of the dead, the crypt of the Feir’Dal, their cairns littering the forest floor like standing stones; even if it had offered life, Isabel would most definitely not have been one of it’s natural number. Soft earth shifted under his feet soundlessly as he moved, centuries of the forest’s shed skins, compacted down and stained deep blue in the unearthly light of the place. Yes, he knew where she would be. 

He found her sat by the edge of one of the pools, shallow, the water an opaque milky blue, they had always drawn her, even when she was small. Just being near them caused her to calm. He knew the men of this area called them by the name of ‘spirit pools’, a supposed collection point for the innocent dead. To Levi they were just water, and water you wouldn’t want to drink or bathe in at that, but they calmed Isabel, so begrudgingly he allowed them room in his life. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her shins, her large green eyes red and swollen from tears. Saying nothing, he sat beside her, staring into the milky waters alongside her.

"It’s not fair." Turning to face him she looked like she might be threatening tears again. It was at times like this he had to force himself to remember exactly how young she was. Nothing more than a child, even by human standards. "You should just leave me. I’m just a stupid human. I can’t do anything useful, I don’t belong anywhere, I-" Cutting herself off, she grit her teeth and buried her face between her knees again. He gave her a moment to make sure she was finished before he spoke. 

"No." He spoke calmly without looking at her, like he always did when she was upset and distraught. “It’s not fair.” He’d barely paused for breath when she erupted at him.

"And don’t tell me all that bullshit that Farlan tries to pass me off with about-"

"I wasn’t going to." His firmer tone quieted her once more, and he continued. "I love him dearly, but as you like to remind him, he’s full of shit sometimes." This made her smile, and catching her eye he allowed his own lips a small twitch. Loosening her hold on her legs, she let them relax some, scuffing her heels in the dirt. 

"I’m still just a useless human though… Not like you."Frowning at her, he waited to see if any more was forth coming. When there wasn’t, he sighed. 

"You’re not useless you stupid idiot. You’re learning. There’s a difference." There was a short quiet spell between them, which Isabel spent kicking swathes of dark earth into the still water then watching them slowly descend into the blue without trace.

"I wish I had elf blood in me…" The term she had once tripped over to pronounce correctly rolled off her tongue as easily as it did Farlan’s or his own. "I wish I was Ayr’Dal…" 

More silence, save for the soft echoing cry of a wisp passing high above them, lost and alone in it’s blind eternity. 

Tilting his head forward, the few drop chains he wore in his ears jangling quietly with the movement, he sighed heavily and closed his eyes, running a hand over the bridge of his nose and his cheek bone, ending with fingers pressed against his left eyelid. She was stubborn. She always had been, and she probably always would be. They’d found her, malnourished, filthy and aggressive as she had been, on the outskirts of Freeport. In that she had not been unique. There were plenty like her, young and old, not only in Freeport but in every city, save perhaps Felwithe. But she had stood tall in her poverty, and Levi had seen his younger self in the way she set her shoulders against the world and  _pushed_. He had not taken pity on her, never had he taken pity on her, and he still refused to do so.

Slipping the short bladed knife from the top of his boot, he pricked his palm with the tip, causing a large droplet of blood to well up from the mound of his thumb. Reaching for her wrist in turn, she gave him a wide eyed stare of confusion. 

"Levi what are you- Ow- that hurt- why’d you-" Pressing their hands together, he held them tight, matching the small wounds as best he could. He hushed her into silence with a look, and possibly she understood what he was doing, for she did not talk back even after he let go.

"Now you do." Wiping the palm of his hand on the side of his boot, he frowned at the bloody smear, but when he spoke it wasn’t with a tone of irritation. "But you didn’t need it. You were already Ayr’Dal. You always have been." She sat stunned, nursing her hand and staring at it, not saying a word. 

Ayr’Dal. A slur reclaimed by it’s intended. The ill-fitted people. Misfits. Those who didn’t belong. What she hadn’t understood was that it was a culture, not a blood line. To him, she had been born as much of an Ayr’Dal as he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My partner actually drew [fanart](http://allcanadianviking.tumblr.com/post/111284349922/wode-blue-fantasy-aus-are-in-this-year-did-u) for this.


	6. Third Bonded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragon shifter Reibert was requested. I obliged. 
> 
> Expect to see more on this. _It's growing._

He hadn’t expected him to look normal. He hadn’t been wrong in his expectations. 

His eyes were a sharp gold, narrow and searching, the heavy crease of his brow telling of wars and bloodshed of a magnitude Berthold could only fall into in the deepest of troubled sleeps. He was old, he knew, they’d told him. They’d told him exactly, and it terrified him. He terrified him. 

Two riders had previously shouldered the task. He would be the third. No matter how much he felt the scream rise inside him, unreleased and thrashing, how much he ran over his selection over and over, it was him. 

Standing at just over six feet tall, he looked more beast than man at present. That too would change, he’d been informed, when they made their pact. The proper one. The one that held the true power, not the worded promises and the trade of flesh he was currently bound under. Glancing down at his left hand, he flexed the stump of his little finger, straining the raw pink flesh that was still trying to knit as he did so. What they’d done with the finger after his oath had been sealed, he didn’t know. It hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind at the time, clouded with pain and screaming anxiety as he had been. Thinking back on it, a wave of nausea crashed in his stomach, tightening his fist in a bid to quell the rising panic. 

"You look like my first." It was the first time Berthold had heard him speak, and the low rumble of his voice caught him off guard in his heightened state. "He was from your town, also." Unsure of how to respond, Berthold instead forced himself to look at him. If he was beautiful or horrifying, he didn’t know. Both perhaps, or maybe he just happened to walk a thin line between the two. Golden scales, curved and polished like fine armour, covered the back of his neck and jaw, traveling up over temples and brow to meet over his nose. They fanned out over his cheekbones too, all the way up to the very edge of his eye. This perhaps was where they were most discomforting, for as the patch of glowing gold traveled down his cheek, invading the softer, fleshier part, they had come loose, leaving in their wake a series of elliptical marks; pitted and pink against the otherwise unmarred skin. A few glistened gold as new scales grew in, as if someone had embedded a grain of rice there. It was disquieting. 

From his town? But they hadn’t produced a rider in over fifty years, and she had been bound to a female. Unless- He looked Reiner over again, searching for any sign that he had once been anything other than male. It wasn’t unheard of for a shifter to change sex if the bond with their rider was right. This didn’t seem to be the case with Reiner however. How long had he been unbound? The way he smiled, the sharpness of his teeth, the way his irises were slightly too large to be normal- the distinct lack of human nature, as if it had been learned, not practiced. No, Reiner had been rouge for a long time. How he had the presentable humanity that he did… Berthold didn’t want to think about.

* * *

He could see nothing but the flickering fire at his feet, illuminating nothing, but still dancing in some unfelt breeze. In, around, beyond him, the darkness pressed further into him, forcing it’s way into his skull in silence as the horror in his chest started to build.

"Are you prepared to give yourself?" 

No

"To surrender freely what years remain to you?"

_No_

"Do you give your heart, for humanity?"

**_No_ **

Reiner’s eyes, far bigger than they had any right to be, too close, yet still at a horrifying distance from him, loomed in the darkness. Golden, alive, old, slit pupil’d. Inhuman. Berthold hear his own voice in the darkness, although he never felt his lips move. The word echoed in their infinite space. His true name. Unwilling and unbidden, he reached up to place his hand over his chest. His left one, the one they had mutilated in order for him to make this pact. His palm flat against his chest, he could feel his heart beating rapidly against his ribs, hammering for release. He allowed it. 

Easily it slipped from him, leaving no wound or mark to acknowledge it’s passing. It pulsed in his grasp, blue and faceted, still warm with his life’s blood, like cut glass heated by the sun. A chasm opened up on the other side of the flame, hot, red and sickeningly organic. With a sigh, something small and withered tumbled from deep within the putrid space. Her name had not been Annie.

He knew that to offer his gift, he must step forward, through the flame, not around. And so he did. The dancing yellow tongues licked at his nakedness, cold, unreal and unfriendly, but he knew at once that they would not harm him. Not any more. Reaching forward, he offered Reiner all he had, knowing it would never be enough to quench a need too old for words or understanding; that he was merely one more sea smoothed stone on a shore of thousands, and somehow it was comforting. 

As Reiner took his heart, swallowing it deep within his chest, he allowed Berthold to exact his payment. A single word, his own true name, thereby gifting his rider with the knowledge and power to command him, to own him. 

And it was done.


	7. No Flash Cards Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reimin fluff. Does what it says on the tin.
> 
> Not so subtly hinted Ereri.

They’d been bundled up like this for awhile now and honestly Armin couldn’t think of a single reason that they should move. Ever. He could survive solely on the soothing rhythm of Reiner’s breathing and the heat of his bare skin, he was sure of it. Reiner was surely the only real thing in the world right now; running his hand up and down the even ridges of his spine through his t-shirt. 

"You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?" And _oh_ he was using his low soft voice, the one that made Armin wish he could purr just so he could express how much he enjoyed it.

"No. Not one." Closing his eyes, he nuzzled in closer, pressing his forehead against the side of Reiner’s neck, head resting on his shoulder, just breathing him in and soaking up his warmth despite already having it reflected back to him from all sides thanks to the soft blankets wrapped around them. Reiner’s legs shifted underneath him, no doubt starting to cramp, but he didn’t move to dislodge Armin from his spot. He was thankful. 

"And here I was about to get the flash cards out." Armin gave a groan that didn’t quite mask his smile.

"No, shhh, enough physics. I’m done." Reiner laughed at this, the soft rumble of it reverberating through his chest.

"Oh god, finally. I thought you were never going to stop with revision. Eren’s been rubbing off on you." 

"I can assure you he hasn’t. I would have noticed. Anyway I doubt he’s had time." This was met with a snort of amusement. Reiner shifted a little, laying his head a top Armin’s as he leaned back into their mound of blankets. "I swear Levi is going to march into the library one of these days and just suck him off under the desk. To be honest it’d do us all a favour, he’s been so tense lately it’s unreal."

"Poor guy. My heart goes out to him." Reaching up, Reiner began to card his fingers through Armin’s hair, having long since taken it out of it’s clip. If it was even possible, Armin relaxed back further against him.

"You filthy liar." 

"Maybe a little bit." Armin gave a sleepy groan, nestling up against his boyfriend still further and opening his eyes again to stare across the tiny room that had been assigned to him when Eren, Jean, Mikasa and himself had all moved in here. At the time he’d been single, and he didn’t have any hobbies that required space, so he’d agreed to taking the smallest room in the house. He liked it though, in all it’s 70s wall storage, white-veneered-MDF glory. It was cosy. Especially here, like this, with Reiner.


End file.
